by Jill Shalvis
Mindy was quiet a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and grateful. “Thanks. You’re a good sister.”
She wasn’t, not even close. But she was going to fix that, too. “And I changed my mind on the vacay at you-know-where. We’re going to Wildstone, so take your time to rest up and stuff, and then you can meet us there.”
“Oh my God, really?” Mindy asked, voice now filled with excitement. “You’re going home? That’s amazing! Thank you! Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Okay, maybe ten, but that could be her own little secret. “Gotta go, Min. Don’t drink all my wine, and don’t drink it in my bed.”
The drive up the California coast was stunning—rolling green hills on the right, the shiny blue Pacific Ocean on the left—but the kids weren’t impressed. It took all of ten minutes for them to get restless. Mason was thirsty, Millie wanted to switch seats, and Maddox kept barking. “What do you all want to be when you grow up?” Brooke finally asked out of desperation.
“A space cowboy,” Mason yelled with glee.
“He means astronaut,” Millie said. “He just can’t say it.”
“Can so. Ass-not.”
Millie lifted a palm, like, See?
Brooke eyed Mason in the rearview mirror. “To be an astronaut, you have to study hard, go to college, and learn a lot of science.”
Mason shrugged, unconcerned. “So? That’s just three things.”
Brooke had to laugh at the brilliant simplicity of that statement. “Maybe you should become a motivational speaker.”
“Do they get as much candy as they want?” Mason asked.
“I’m going to be a real princess,” Millie interrupted. “And I’m not going to have to marry a prince first, either.”
“Arf!” Maddox said.
“He’s going to be a dog,” Millie translated.
And so the drive went. At one point, Maddox dropped his favorite stuffed puppy into Millie’s lap.
“Finders keepers,” Millie said.
Maddox started wailing.
“Millie,” Brooke said. “Can you hand that back to him, please?”
Millie was playing on Brooke’s iPad and didn’t respond.
“Millie.”
Nothing.
Brooke sighed. “Princess Millie, give your brother back his puppy before I stop this car and take away the iPad.”
Millie shoved the puppy back into Maddox’s arms. He instantly stopped the crocodile tears and flashed a cute, dimpled smile at Brooke via the rearview mirror.
Thirty-two-point-five months old, and already a lady killer.
They were past Santa Barbara and into the home stretch when they stopped for gas. Brooke was out of the car for maybe a total of four minutes, but when she got back in, Mason’s lip was bleeding. Neither of his siblings could tell her what had happened.
At least they knew the first rule of Fight Club. “Let’s fix that up, kiddo,” Brooke said.
He covered it with his hands. “No. A Band-Aid will do it . . .”
That seemed to be his life motto. The kid was a genius.
“He doesn’t like being doctored up,” Millie said.
“Well, who does,” Brooke murmured, understanding Mason on a base level.
Four hours outside LA, they finally pulled into Wildstone, a mid-California coastal town of rolling green hills and pristine beaches. Back in the late 1800s, it’d been a gold-mining town, complete with clapboard sidewalks and a commercial row made up of saloons and whorehouses. Luckily the town fathers had changed with the times, and 150 years later, Wildstone was thriving. But it wasn’t thanks to saloons and whorehouses. That honor went to wineries and ranching.
Commercial Row had put on some new lipstick since Brooke had last driven through. The buildings were freshly renovated, but the place still said “Wild Wild West”—part of its charm, she supposed. She passed the redbrick firehouse where she and her family used to go for the annual pancake breakfast on July 4. The county library where in the very back corner they shelved the historical romances that had given her the best sex ed a girl could get. Then Caro’s Café, which had the best maple bacon on the planet as far as Brooke was concerned.
Then, on the far side of town, she drove by the state park where she’d broken her arm falling out of a huge oak tree, which still stood there. She’d received her first kiss leaning up against that thick trunk. She’d been playing tag with their neighbor Garrett Montgomery—number three on her new life plan. Back then, he’d been fourteen to her twelve, but his life experiences had made him seem years older than her.
She’d loved every second of that kiss and had spent the rest of her youth chasing silly dreams and fantasies. But her love life had not gone in the comfortable, safe, cozy direction that Mindy and Linc’s had. She and Garrett had not found their happily ever after.
She was still thinking of that as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. Garrett might’ve been her first crush, but she’d always been far too flawed for more. She was still too flawed.
“Home!” Mason yelled jubilantly.
Home . . . Mindy and Linc had bought the house from her parents, and it sat between a horse ranch and a homestead. Still sitting behind the wheel, Brooke was bombarded with memories. Scaling the side of the house at age thirteen to sit on the roof, much to her parents’ horror. Running over the mailbox at sixteen. Leaving at eighteen to find adventures.
Shoving that all aside, she helped the kids out of the car and eyed the front lawn. There was a complicated trail of yellow plastic that looked like some sort of obstacle course running up and over an upside-down wheelbarrow, around a tree, and down the porch stairs, with a sharp curve that ended in a kiddie pool. “What the—”
“Daddy and Uncle Garrett built us a homemade Slip ’N Slide,” Millie said. “We’re only allowed to use it when Momma’s outside with us cuz she thinks it’s dangerous.”
“Nuh-huh,” Mason said. “She said ‘stupid.’”
Brooke had to agree with her sister. “So your daddy and . . .” She paused on the name. “Uncle Garrett are close?”
“They’re best friends,” Millie said. “They do everything together.”
Oh boy. She’d known Garrett was still in town because she followed Mindy on Instagram and had seen the occasional pic of him. She hadn’t realized he and Linc had stayed close. Her stomach churned as she stared up at the house where she and Mindy had grown up playing, fighting, laughing, fighting some more . . . A lot of that with Garrett.
As a rule, she didn’t spend much time dwelling on the past. She liked to think she had a good head on her shoulders, but she did tend to bypass her brain and lead with her gut instead of thinking things through. She loved her parents, but they’d often acted without thinking, too. They’d fallen in love young and had gone on to marry and divorce, then marry and divorce again, after which they hadn’t spoken for years.
Now they were “dating” again, and kept saying, “We’ll just see what happens . . .”
Brooke knew what that meant. They’d run off somewhere to stand in front of a judge and say their vows. Again. And then they’d fight over the business. Again. Or where to go on vacation. Or their very different definitions of the word monogamy . . .
It was a crazy way to live. An even crazier way to raise kids, but hey, who was she to judge? Still, she’d learned a few things. She didn’t want a relationship like that. And though she loved what Linc and Mindy had—assuming Linc wasn’t sleeping with the nanny—she didn’t want that, either. For a long time, she thought what she wanted was adventure.
But the helo crash had changed everything she thought she knew about herself, and now, even seven years later, she still didn’t know who she was.
She unlocked the front door with Maddox in one arm and Mason in the other, meanwhile nudging Millie along with a knee—seriously, why did people have three kids when they had only two hands?
In the foyer, one wall was lined with tools and a stack
of tarps. Linc and Mindy appeared to be in the midst of a remodel, which turned out to be a blessing. With everything looking so completely different, she didn’t drown in memories. A bonus. Boosted by that, she got everyone inside, and Mindy was right—it did stink in here. “What’s that?”
“Smells like one of Mad Dog’s diapers,” Millie said, wrinkling her nose.
Sure enough, the trash hadn’t been taken out. Brooke handled that pronto and then gathered everyone in the kitchen.
“I’m hungry,” Princess Millie announced.
“Me, too,” Mason said.
“You only said that because I said it,” Millie said. “You’re a copycat.”
“But I am hungry,” Mason said.
Maddox barked, whether to say he was hungry or in agreement that Mason was a copycat, Brooke had no idea. She went through the kitchen and knew she’d have to go to the store first thing in the morning. If she’d been home, she’d just order groceries online and have them delivered same day. But when she brought up a food delivery app, she discovered Wildstone hadn’t joined the digital age. There was no same-day delivery. There was no delivery service at all. In the freezer, she found some gluten-free, dairy-free mac and cheese that sounded . . . not promising. But there were also chicken hot dogs. So she panfried those, nuked the mac and cheese, chopped up some broccoli, and tossed it all together.
“Momma says the mac and cheese is for emergencies only,” Millie said. “Our plates are supposed to have at least three colors. Mostly we have to eat stuff that comes from the ground.”
“Tonight’s orange and brown!” Mason said cheerfully, and licked his plate clean.
“And green,” Brooke said. “That’s three.”
Millie held up her hands and walked to the sink to wash them for the hundredth time that day. She carefully dried off, then stared at them. “My skin’s ir-cated.”
“Irritated. And maybe you could try and skip a few washings.”
“Can’t.”
Brooke nodded. She got it. She pulled a hand lotion from her backpack and set it on the counter. “Use this after you wash. It’ll help.”
She then unpacked the kids and ran laundry with everyone underfoot, making her realize she hadn’t had a second alone to herself, not even to pee. Apparently privacy went the way of the dodo bird when you were a mom. She texted Mindy to check in and then ignored her sister’s million subsequent texts attempting to micromanage from LA.
She was really starting to understand Linc’s single-check-intext-a-day rule.
At some point, Maddox had stripped and was running around with his biscuits hanging out. Mason was trying on Millie’s clean clothes, and since this didn’t seem to upset Millie in the least, Brooke let him be. When she got down to the socks in the clean laundry basket, she whistled for everyone to gather round. “We’re going to play the sock game. Whoever matches the most pairs wins and gets to pick tonight’s movie.”
“Don’t let Millie win,” Mason whined, wearing a sunshine-yellow sundress and black tube socks. “She’ll pick a princess movie!”
“The princess movies are all broken,” Brooke said, and was surprised when everyone accepted this as gospel. Hey, she thought, maybe this isn’t so hard . . .
BUT BY BEDTIME, Brooke was stick-a-fork-in-her done. She got the kids into their beds and watched Maddox fall asleep on his back, arms and legs flung out, blissfully peaceful.
“Don’t grow up,” she whispered, and stroked his hair from his face. “It’s a trap.”
She wandered the house. Her childhood bedroom was now Millie’s. The master bedroom suite was available, but that didn’t feel right. So instead of going to sleep, she got herself a big, fat bowl of the ice cream she’d found in the freezer and stepped out onto the back porch.
The silence was the first thing to strike her. She’d forgotten the quiet of Wildstone. No highway noise, no trucks, no temper-driven honking from drivers stuck in traffic, no city lights . . . nothing but the sound of the night breeze in the oak trees, the singing crickets, the faraway sound of a coyote howl, and . . . a meow.
She straightened and strained to hear it again. When it came, she left the porch and followed the sound across the yard, passing the homemade Slip ’N Slide, to the house next door. For her entire childhood, the neighboring property had belonged to a wonderful woman she’d known only as Ann, who’d been a foster parent to so many kids over the years that Brooke had lost count.
She ended up on Ann’s back deck, where she was pretty sure the soft, hungry, sad-sounding meow had come from. “Hello?” she called softly. “Are you hurt?”
“Meow.” The cat that came out from beneath the porch was black as night, except for four white paws, and massive. With a welcoming chirp, she trotted toward Brooke, belly swinging to and fro with every step.
“Aw.” She bent down as the cat wrapped around her ankles. “Are you scared? Have you been abandoned? Are you hungry?”
“No, yes, and yes,” came an almost unbearably familiar male voice.
Garrett Montgomery rose out of a porch chair she hadn’t even noticed and gestured to a small wooden sign that read:
THE CATS HAVE BEEN FED, DO NOT LISTEN TO THEIR BULLSHIT.
Brooke had stilled at the sound of Garrett’s voice, but now she choked out a laugh. “Yours?” she asked, nodding to the cat.
He gave a single, barely there nod.
She had so many questions. How had he been, what was he doing here in this house he’d grown up in, did he hate her . . . In the end, she asked the only question she could. “What’s her name?” she managed.
“Princess Jasmine. She was abandoned a few years ago by a neighbor who moved on without her. Not that he deserved her, anyway. And yes, she thinks she’s hungry. She’s always hungry. I can’t quite convince her she needs a diet.”
Brooke was having a hard time getting air into her lungs. Not in the same way as she did in her nightmares; nothing as simple as that. This felt like a ball of nostalgia, yearning, and need all mixed together and stuck dead center in her throat. Garrett had been one of Ann’s foster kids. He’d also been Brooke’s first crush. Her first heartbreak. Her first everything.
And they hadn’t spoken in . . . well, years.
All her doing.
The air crackled with awkwardness and regrets. So much regret. And while she was shocked to the core to see him, she could tell he wasn’t surprised in the least to see her. She let out a shaky breath and met his gaze for the first time in seven years. His eyes were amused but distant—which she 100 percent deserved. “You adopted her,” she guessed. “And let Millie name her.”
“Actually, she adopted me, and yes.”
The ball of emotion in her throat swelled. It might’ve been seven years, but she knew this man, knew that he knew a little something about abandonment and had lived his life accordingly. “Sucker,” she said lightly, and scooped up the cat, who lifted her face to rub against Brooke’s. “You’d adopt a coyote if it came knocking at your door in need.”
He lifted a shoulder in a guilty-as-charged gesture.
They stared at each other some more, and something heavy slid through her. More regret, and the sense of a future lost. Swallowing hard, she handed him his cat. “How’ve you been?”
He gave one short, mirthless laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
Yeah, he was right. Turned out you really couldn’t go home again. She’d actually thought she could. She’d told herself he deserved the closure, and if he hated her, she’d just have to take it. And in the meantime, she’d get to know her niece and nephews before heading back to LA. But she’d been stupid to think she could handle any of it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
One sardonic eyebrow raised. “For?”
She was short of air again. Dammit. “You know what? It’s late. Good night.” And acting like the coward she’d been for the past seven years, she walked away. Actually, she ran, her sneakers making squeaky noises on the grass as she counted her steps. Be
cause maybe the old Brooke had been fearless and brave, but the new Brooke was nothing but a big, fat scaredy-cat, and she’d just proven it.
Chapter 3
“You going to make mashed potatoes with that thing, or hit me over the head?”
Back at the house, Brooke collapsed in exhaustion on the couch in the living room. “That’s definitely enough todaying for today . . .” she murmured, and closed her eyes.
She was awoken an hour later by an unfortunately familiar sound.
Someone was throwing up. And that someone was throwing up while padding down the hall toward her.
Maddox.
He was crying, nose running, puke-faced, and she was torn between wanting to cuddle him close or run in the other direction. Her sense of auntie obligation won, so she scooped him up. She had to hold her breath, but she got him cleaned, changed, and tucked back into bed.
That’s when Princess Millie appeared and also threw up.
And where there were two, there were always three. Not ten minutes after she’d soothed Maddox and Millie, then Mason was also getting sick.
And then the cycle began all over again.
She’d stepped into her own horror flick.
HOURS LATER, UP to her elbows in poop and puke and exhausted to the bone, Brooke laid Maddox back into his little toddler bed and stroked his hair from his face as he clung to her hand.
“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered softly.
He sent her a sweet, sleepy smile and flashed that dimple, and her damn heart snagged in her chest. Seriously, how was she supposed to resist? He had huge green eyes and drooled when he smiled at her, and he hugged her with his grimy, disgusting hands and loved her with his sweet, undamaged heart. Gah.
Since dawn was making an appearance, she didn’t bother to attempt sleep. Instead, she obsessively scrubbed the sick germs from every nook and cranny of the entire house, including under the couch. She was demolishing all the dust bunnies when she found a tortoise.
